After a two-and-a-half-hour journey, during which he saw nothing but the dense forest lining the highway, he finally arrived at the concrete jungle.
The skyscrapers he had glimpsed an hour ago now loomed tall, casting their majestic shadows. The entrance was marked by a weather-worn bronze statue of Shikibu Oto, the founder of that metropolis and a central figure in the city's history—a symbol of the empire and the official seat of the Order of Exorcists.
The monument, twenty cycles old, split the road in two, dividing the lanes for entry and exit.
"Hey, old man…" he muttered upon seeing the statue once more, now the closest thing he had to a human connection since becoming an orphan.
His grandparents… his relatives… lost in the vastness of the world.
After that brief reunion, he continued on, taking the right-hand lane into the city. As he drove down the wide avenue leading toward the center, he noticed that everything looked the same as always.
The further he went, the darker and more enclosed everything became. A musty smell filled the air, and the persistent rain formed a curtain that clouded his vision, turning what was once a lush, green view into an oppressive gray mass of concrete.
It felt like a transition into another reality, the road carrying him straight into a place of sorrow.
Nothing about this place ever captivated him—but the young man barely noticed. He drove on, trying to free his mind from anything supernatural. His speed gradually decreased as he noticed most businesses were still closed. Yet the movement around him was intense, feverish, and chaotic.
People moved with a hollow look in their eyes, carrying the weight of life in their weary postures, while the bitterness of the rain in their mouths stole away any sense of peace. Like rats, they seemed condemned to this cage.
He felt a dark energy slither around him, wrapping him in a subtle grip, slipping into the edges of his vision.
It was hard to ignore something that seemed to tug at his very soul, his senses.
As he observed people more closely, he saw dark stains in their auras, radiating an unsettling melancholy. A feeling of exhaustion and frustration hung in the air like an invisible virus, infecting those nearby and perpetuating an endless cycle.
Persistent emotions fed the growing darkness, setting the stage for a world even grimmer than before. It was so draining that he decided to focus on the road ahead, stopping at a red light.
Unease filled him as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.
"Azaael, why the silence? Damn it! You didn't shut up back in Kyoto—what's your problem now?"
While waiting, he addressed the shadow forming in the backseat—a masculine silhouette cloaked in darkness, its form shifting like flickering flames. It was a spectral image, born from the depths of his own imagination.
"Missing me already?" the shadow teased. Even though it was just a mental projection, it gave off an unbearable stench of sulfur—the same smell people claimed belonged to the children of eternal darkness.
"Huh?"
That was Azaael, the so-called "fearsome" demon king, one of the seven—banished from the shadow realm of Maladomus, the purgatory itself, after trying to usurp his brother's throne, according to myth. Now, he wandered among humans, sharing the young man's body for about a year.
But his influence over the boy's mind was growing each day, surrounding him like a constant torment.
"Oh, come on, not this again! You're never quiet!" he snapped, grabbing a mint from the glove compartment. "Why would today be any different?"
"You know, I'm just not feeling inspired…"
"If silence is what you want, be my guest!" he shot back, clearly irritated, then pulled forward as the light turned green.
"What, did you want me to buy you a new smartphone?" he asked with a crooked grin.
He was aware of everything—what he saw, what he felt, what he went through… what he lived.
"Screw you!"
"Then leave me alone. Go talk to statues if you're feeling lonely, annoying brat!"
The boy simply sighed, resigned, and silence settled between them—an unspoken truce.
His destination was his fortress, and that's where he was headed, pulling away as the light changed.
Known as the Fourth District, Katakana rose with luxurious skyscrapers whose lights gleamed indifferently even in daylight. The place was a sanctuary for those who valued solitude—something he understood well. His relationships were limited to contractors and clients, all tied to his life as an exorcist.
He parked behind the building and chose to take the emergency stairs, avoiding any social interaction. After climbing six of the thirteen floors, he finally reached the corridor leading to his apartment. The white marble floor gleamed, reflecting his tired face—a result of the cleaning team's impeccable work, well-compensated for their efforts.
A few steps later, he reached apartment number 36, the last one before the elevator. The door showed signs of wear, with chipped noble wood and black paint faded to a dull gray.
Darkness was taking its toll on the world.
Looking ahead, he noticed a sign hanging:
"Please check in with management so we can resolve the issue with your door!
– Signed, the superintendent."
He let out an irritated sigh after reading it for the umpteenth time. It was nothing new.
Damn, I thought I got rid of that last week.
Wasting no time, he ripped it down impatiently and tossed it into the hallway with disdain. Think he didn't have patience? He had even less.
"Look what you put me through, Azaael…" he muttered, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. "If it weren't for this contract, I'd have broken it out of spite!"
In a hurry, he found his card key, the apartment's digital key, and held it near the panel. The door slid open automatically, stopping once it reached the appropriate width.
Finally home…
The lights turned on instantly as he stepped inside, revealing the state he'd left the place in: a towel still on the couch, pillows scattered across the floor, the TV stuck on its screensaver after being on too long, and the sound of the shower running in the background.
His peace was abruptly shattered when the landline—silent since the day he bought the apartment—suddenly rang insistently, echoing through the rooms and breaking the quiet he'd expected.
"Damn it… I just got home, and this starts already!"
Falling into routine, he crossed the semi-messy kitchen—the frying pan he'd used days ago still on the stove. In the hallway, he quickly passed the bathroom, turned off the shower, and entered his bedroom. On the nightstand beside his unkempt bed, in classic teenage style, sat the phone and his collection of meds—essential allies in managing his bipolar disorder.
Hm, it's been a week since I even looked at these…
Lost in thought, he picked up the phone almost automatically, feeling the spiral cord, like a notebook wire.
"Hello? What do you need?"
"Yamasaki, this is Hidetoshi Nakata, director of the Hiragana Sports Academy. I tried calling earlier but couldn't reach you…"
"Oh, Director Nakata, long time no see. I had a few things come up. Anyway, what's this about?"
"It's been a while. Well, we've been experiencing unusual apparitions here at the academy—some grotesque creatures, according to the students. A few athletes were even attacked… but thankfully, no fatalities!"
"Attacked? But no victims? Hm…" He looked around. "Sounds like a haunting. If it hasn't killed anyone yet, it's probably still weak…"
"Yes, exactly! That's what the ID report suggested," the man said, voice filled with enthusiasm despite the circumstances. "I know this isn't the kind of job someone with your skills usually takes, but the academy values those who've helped us before. That's why I'm asking—no, begging—you to assist us."
"I see… well…"
He rolled his eyes, sighed deeply, and shoved a hand into his pocket. He'd done a few small jobs there before, nothing major, back when he was just starting out.
If I've got cash in the account, I'm turning this down. That guy's so annoying.
But he found nothing.
Shit! How could I forget? I broke my smartphone!
The steady buzz of the call accompanied his thoughts.
No choice…
"All right, wait for me. I'll come by after classes end and we'll work out the fee, okay?"
"Alright then!": came the voice on the other end, as if he'd just jumped out of his chair. "I'll be waiting for you in my office after hours. Thanks!"
He glanced toward the mirror on the wardrobe door across from the bed, holding the phone with a heavy sigh and lowering it from his face.
"Ugh, Azaael... we just got here and we're already back to work? Being an exorcist feels harder than having a regular job.": he muttered to his own reflection, pocketed the phone, and heard the beep right after.